“Sounds great, so long as I don’t have to get my nails painted,” he said, shrugging. “But I definitely want more of those massages. Wouldn’t mind a happy ending, either.”
“Not funny,” I snapped. “I’m a therapist, Boonie. I help people who are in pain. You should respect that.”
The smiled dropped from his face and he caught my hands, pulling me close.
“It was just a joke, Darce,” he said. “I don’t need you giving up on your dreams. Hell, I’ve got my own life. The last thing I want is you all whiny and dependent. My mom was like that. Sucked. I just want to know that at the end of the day you’ll be in my bed.”
I leaned into him, laying my head on his chest.
“I could probably make that work. But no more riots, okay? My ass is covered in scratches. Let’s keep it boring from now on.”
“Boring. I can work with that.”
A sudden knocking pounded the door.
“Boonie, get out here!’’ his friend shouted. “You won’t believe what just happened.”
Boonie pulled away, running a hand through his hair in frustration.
“I think we’re going to have to be bored later,” he muttered. I sighed, realizing I should probably get used to it.
“We really are cursed.”
Boonie shook his head, then gave my nose a quick kiss.
“We’re just normality-challenged. It’ll be okay.”
Wrapping my arms around him, I gave a squeeze then let him go. Guess I should get used to it—boring was probably overrated anyway, right?
_______
Historical note: The events in this story are based loosely on real events that took place at different times in the Silver Valley and Coeur d’Alene, Idaho.
The “riot” in downtown Coeur d’Alene took place in June 1999, during the annual Car d’Alene classic car show. It began outside the Ironhorse Saloon when police stopped a biker and were booed by the crowd. Things grew out of control when more officers arrived in riot gear. While the exact timeline of events is controversial, many witnesses (including my own friends who were present) stated that the police attacked them violently. Fourteen people were arrested and it led to a challenge in the Idaho State Supreme Court over whether police officers are immune from prosecution.
The Sunshine Mine Fire is one of the darkest chapters in Silver Valley history. On May 9, 1972, the second deadliest hard-rock mining disaster in U.S. history killed ninety-one men deep underground, many of whom were overcome so quickly they were found still sitting in front of their open lunch boxes. Escape efforts were hampered by out-of-date rescue equipment and leadership issues. Eight days later, two survivors were found 4,800 feet under the surface. No other men would come out alive. The oldest victim was sixty-one years old and the youngest was nineteen. They left behind seventy-seven widows and more than two hundred children, three of whom were still unborn. If you’re interested in learning more, I highly recommend The Deep Dark by Gregg Olsen.
AUTHOR’S NOTE: Many of my books feature characters cooking, which leads to readers requesting copies of my recipes. Huckleberries grow wild in the Silver Valley and are a big part of the culture. They’re hard to find and take forever to pick, so a huckleberry pie is considered a rare and special treat. This recipe is from my book Silver Bastard. FYI—I’m not always exact with my measurements when I cook, so consider yourself warned.
Becca’s Huckleberry Pie Recipe
Ingredients
1 double pie crust (either made at home or purchased at the store) 3-4 cups huckleberries (or a mix of huckleberries and blueberries if you’re a little short)
4 tablespoons of instant tapioca
½ to ¾ cup sugar (approximate—don’t be afraid to increase or decrease based on your personal preferences as you mix the filling) 2-3 tablespoons fresh orange juice 1 egg white
1 tablespoon cold water
Vanilla ice cream
Instructions
Pre-heat oven to 400 F.
Put ¾ cup huckleberries, sugar and orange juice in a sauce pan. Heat until the sugar melts and the berries start to burst, creating a sauce. While this cools slightly, combine remaining berries in a bowl with instant tapioca and mix gently with a spoon. Slowly fold in the warm berry mix.
Pour berry mixture into crust, then cover with second layer of crust. Crimp edges and cut several holes or slices in the top of the pie to allow steam to escape. Mix egg white with cold water and brush across the top of the crust. Place pie on sheet and bake for 15 minutes, then reduce heat to 375 and bake until crust is golden brown (approx. 50 minutes, give or take).
Allow pie enough cooling time to set up, then serve warm with vanilla ice cream.
AUTHOR’S NOTE: This is one of the first scenes from Reaper’s Property, told from an alternative point of view. It is appropriate for readers who haven’t already read the book, and was originally published on my website.
Sticky Sweet
HORSE
“I’m so sick of this shit.”
I pulled the nozzle out of my bike’s gas tank and wiped off my forehead, rubbing my hand dry against my faded jeans. My black leather vest concentrated the heat on my back, and the thought of cramming my head back into my oven of a helmet pissed me off. It’d been a long, hot ride, and the weather in this shithole of a town wasn’t helping my mood. “Fuckin’ excuses, every time I talk to him.”
“Yeah,” Picnic said, glancing toward the convenience store behind the pumps. Max was inside grabbing something to drink. “I hear you. You think Jensen will admit he fucked up or keep up the lies?”
I glanced at him and shrugged, sick of the situation. Why had the Reapers gotten into business with Jeff Jensen, anyway? The guy might be a genius when it came to getting money out of the country, but he was still a fuckin’ stoner. Couldn’t trust them for shit.
No follow-through.
“He doesn’t have a good reason for this latest mess, then I’m about done with the asshole,” I muttered, running the numbers through my head. Jeff had made our motorcycle club a shitload of money, but the constant babysitting . . . I wasn’t sure it was worth it anymore. Should’ve kicked him out on his ass when he first came to us with his little business proposal. “Goddamn, it’s hot out here. Why the fuck would anyone choose to live in eastern Washington, anyway?”
Picnic raised a brow.
“I thought he was some kind of idiot savant, a ‘valuable asset’?” he asked lightly. “You told us all about it yesterday. What’s the matter, sun got you all grumpy? You need a cool bath, maybe a Midol to soothe your temper, sweetheart?”
I narrowed my eyes at my club president, then felt a rueful grin tugging at my lips. Pic was right. Reapers didn’t whine like little bitches—I needed to grab sack and deal.
“You’re a dick,” I said. Picnic grinned back at me.
“Ya think?”
“Hey, you ladies ready?” Max yelled, walking out of the store. He stopped next to the bikes, handing over bottles of cold water. “Or do we need some more time to discuss the issue? Because I’m sick of talking about this guy. We should teach him not to fuck with us, so we don’t have to keep making trips like this.”